The Sirian Experiments

As I looked, the dark swallowed everything, and almost at once the two moons appeared, large and small, lighting everything with a strong yellow glare. Their colours seemed different from when I had seen them in the hovercar, and again I dropped off to sleep, with the strain of it all, and when I woke it was light, and Klorathy was outside, talking to group of the “insects.” They were not much different in plan from the physical structure common throughout our Galaxy.

They were in fact not very short, being taller than myself, but seemed so, because they were so extremely thin and light in build, and of a silvery-grey colour that made one believe them transparent when they were not. They no hair on their tall domed heads. Each hand—and it was their hands one had to take note of first—had ten very long fingers, nailless, giving the impression of bunches of tentacles in movement. They had three eyes, quite round, bright green, with vertical black pupils. There was a pattern of nostrils—simple holes—in the centre of their flat faces, three, or four or even more. No nose. And no mouth at all.

I was glad that I was able to examine them from a little distance, and even more glad that Klorathy was not there, because I have never been to overcome an instinctive abhorrence for creatures dissimilar to my own species. This has been my single greatest handicap as a Colonial Servant. Attempts to overcome the weakness have cost me more than any other effort, such as learning languages and dialects, and having to acclimatise myself to places like this Colony 11, with its rapid rotation that one could feel and its violent alternations of light.

Despite my repugnance, I able to watch Klorathy’s lips in movement and his animated face, but could not see how they talked, with no mouth. After a time the same two Giants rejoined the group and Klorathy came in to rejoin me.

I could see no sign in him of repugnance.

Without speaking, he pulled the low seats to a window, and we sat side by side and observed the two Giants and the “insect people.”

As I was thinking this unflattering description of them, and looking at the tentacles that seemed to flow around them and in the air around their heads, Klorathy said: “You are wrong. They are more highly evolved than any but one of our peoples.”

“More than the Giants?” I could not help sounding sarcastic, the contrast between the noble and handsome black men and the “insects” was so great.

“They complement each other,” was the reply. And he looked at me, leaning forward to impress on me the force of his amber gaze.

I could not prevent myself sighing—it was impatience, and also tiredness. This atmosphere was exhausting—not the chemical balance of it, though it had slightly less oxygen than I was used to, but suddenly again the sun had gone, and now there was one moon shining blood orange this time, and then appeared the little moon, a sort of greenish colour, and the scene we had been watching, of low greyish grass, the two enormous Giants, and the cluster of the others, was lit by a horrible reddish light, and the Giants seemed to be made of blood, and the shapes of the “insects” were absorbed, and all I could see was a mass of waving tentacles. I abruptly left my seat and turned my face inwards.

I said, “I don’t think Colony 11 suits me.” And tried to make it humorous. He said nothing and I asked: “And you?”

“I spend a good deal of time here.”

“Why?”

“At this time, for our present needs, this planet is important to us.”

I understood that this reply was specific, and contained information that I been reaching out for. But I felt ill and discouraged; my strongest thought was that if after so many ages I still could not control an instinctive response to creatures physically different, then it was time I gave it all up and retired!

“It is not the physical difference as such,” said Klorathy.

“Well then? I suppose they talk with their tentacles?”

“Their tentacles are sensors. They sense the variations in the atmosphere with them.”

“And I suppose they use telepathy?" We had no races in all our Empire who were telepathic, but had heard there were such races, and believed that Canopus had several. I was being sarcastic again, but Klorathy said, “Yes. They are telepathic. The Giants talk like you and me. The others in their own way. The two species get on well enough.”

“And they have no mouths.” I could not help a shudder.

“Have not noticed something quite unique about this planet?”

“No. All I know is that it makes me feel very sick indeed, and I am going to leave it.”

I looked out again. The moons were in the sky, but the sun was, too. The moons, sunlit, were faintly green and yellow in a grey sky, and each sent off a glow of illuminated gases.

“Wait just little.”

“There are no towns. No cities.”

“And there are no crops growing. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Ah! The Giants have given up eating!”

“No. We import enough food for them. But the people here do not eat.”

“They live on air,” I expostulated.

“Exactly so. Their tentacles assess the ingredients of the air and breathe it in according to what is available at any given moment.”

I absorbed this. It gave me a dismayed, cold feeling. It is not that I am, as our saying goes, eaten by my food, but it does not come easily to imagine life without any at all.

“And the Giants are teaching them, as they did the apes on Rohanda?”

“No. I told you,” he said gently. “They are a balance for each other. Together they make a whole.”

“In relation to what?”

As I said this I realised I had come out with a real question: one that he had been waiting for me to ask. At once he replied: “In relation to need.”

And disappointment made me snap out: “Need, need, need. You always say need. What need?”

He did not reply. While I wrestling with my need to formulate the right question, I fell asleep again, and when I woke up the moons of Colony 11 were absent altogether. The stars were many and bright, though, and I stood looking out into the night, feeling soothed and comforted, but not for long, for soon up sprang the larger moon, and the light was green and metallic and very unpleasant, and I decided at that moment to leave. I could not see Klorathy.

On the table was a large white tablet, and on it Klorathy had written: “The exact disposition of usefulness of this planet according to Need will change in twenty Canopean days. If you feel able to stay until then, I think you should. If not, then perhaps you may care to meet me on Shikasta (Rohanda, if you insist) in the city of Koshi on the eastern side of the central landmass. I have ordered the hovercar to take you to the space-port if you wish.”

It was waiting. I got into it, shut my eyes so as not to see more of this nauseating planet and had thankfully left it before there could be another descent of its lurid and always different night.

Twenty Canopean days make a Sirian year. I attended to some other tasks and then went to Rohanda.

Instructions from Canopus—“may we be permitted to suggest” arrived well before I left, and there was plenty in them to make me think. First there was a change in the protective practices, or rituals. A sharp one, greater than any previous change. I had begun to take for granted certain basic usages that did not alter—nor could, I had thought—but now everything was different. I will not trouble to detail these practices, which were to change again and again thereafter. But it was emphasised that these were of importance, that their exact and accurate practice was vital, and that I should not be tempted to alter them, not for any reason at all, nor at the behest of any person whatsoever, no matter his or her apparent credentials. Certain artefacts were provided for my use. Secondly, I must remember that the planet was now under the domination, for all apparent purposes, of Shammat, and I must be on my guard: this was particularly true of the cities on the eastern part of the central landmass, and Koshi was as bad as any of them. Thirdly, I must remember that the planet, since its axis had been set on a slant, had seasons—Canopus believed that one of our own planets had seasons?—and this had much affected the general temperament, already, of course, thoroughly perverted since the Catastrophe of the failure of the Lock. Fourthly, the predominant stock was now a mix of the old giants and the old natives, with admixtures unpla